Defining Misery
by Epic Insanity
Summary: A lonely man attempts to unravel the confusing, humiliating, and deeply painful love tied like thin wires across his mind. Will a few cups of tea, a warm fire, and the wisdom of a friend be enough to untangle the knotted mess he's become?
1. Ghost In The Snow

**I really have no idea what I'm doing right now. I think it's just the call of midnight telling me to actually do something semi-productive while I'm still awake. Or maybe I've got little strings tied around each of my fingers and some invisible being is using me as a puppet, typing each word for me. Regardless of the reason, I've managed to spit the following chapter out.**

**I assume that it will continue to develop into a healthy story with time but after glancing at the clock and seeing 12:25 AM glaring at me, I know this particular instance is not development time.**

**Now, how you managed to find yourself here does not concern me. What does concern me however, is the level of enjoyment experienced while finding this page staring up at you through the screen. I'm sure not much can be said about this first bit, but you never know. Onward!**

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Ghost In the Snow

Bitter wind hissed at the back of my neck, right in between the spot where my cloak began and my fedora ended. The freezing howl only intensified an already bubbling need to get indoors, so I did my best to ignore it. I must do this, get through this, force my way down the path and out to the end (an end I expected to be worth far less than the vigorous torture it took to get there in the first place).

With a growl, I rubbed a hand at the irritated spot. Not that it would help, of course. These blasted hands had never offered any kind of warmth be it physical or emotional. But at least the sensation of the wind scraping past the sensitive flesh was warded off temporarily.

'Why of all the bloody days, did it have to be _today_?' I mentally groaned. The inconvenience was astounding, enough to surprise even myself. I should have been used to negative situations (directly before I received the invitation, I'd assumed that nothing surprised me anymore in my old, experienced age), and yet this caught me completely off guard.

I knew why of course. 'My ridiculous self-imposed solitude doesn't consider the weather any longer, does it? I guess any attempts at small talk have been shattered,' I thought with a hint of sarcasm. Usually the cold doesn't bother me; I'm quite accustomed to temperatures lower than average and more often than not, I am so focused on a task that my nerves tend to stop sending me environmental signals at all. My world had only ever revolved around three things (not in this particular order): survival, music, and something else better left dusty and uncovered. What other consideration did I need outside of them?

'You could have at least remembered your gloves, you impudent idiot,' I chastised myself. White hands currently buried deep within the folds of the cloak, I wondered exactly how many shades of difference were between their paleness and that of the snow. 'Excuse me, pardon me. Ghost coming through.' That would have made for an alarming notice, now wouldn't it?

But such words were unneeded. Even my frighteningly thin and black-clothed figure intimidated no crowds of people today. Curtains were pulled across windows, shielding many inhabitants from the harsh reality of a storm outside. The world was bathed in a hysterical amount of white, snow coating anything that was attached to the ground. The streets were clear aside from the occasional unfortunate carriage driver and even then it was obvious they were seeking someplace to warm their rosy noses by the fire.

'At least I won't have to worry about _that_ appendage falling off due to the cold.'

With this internal comment, my mood worsened. I took in a cold breath, tasted small bits of snow in the air, and then exhaled a puff of vapor. Why, oh why hadn't I hustled a carriage for transport? I shook my head at the pointless question. There was no part of me that wanted to deal with more people than was necessary at present.

After repeating the breathing exercise ten times, my attitude remained remotely the same except for a newfound hatred for the chill now permeating my teeth.

"Daroga," I hissed, the sound carried away in the roaring wind, "I'm going to _murder_ you."


	2. More Than Willing

**I'm pretty surprised that I actually made it to the second chapter. I usually get sidetracked...And this isn't up to par either. There's a ton of things I would have rewritten but at this point I'm just churning words out simply to get this done. **

**Well, it isn't midnight so my juices aren't flowing with that half-asleep spark as in the first chapter, but we'll see how this goes.**

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More Than Willing

When I finally made it to the Daroga's humble abode, I had every intent to kill him. It would likely not be a quick or painless death either. My cold hands wrapped around his tanned neck for starters, then probably a few fingers removed, and quite possibly ending with his head disconnected from his body. Yes, that sounded just grand-

"Erik?" I heard a heavily accented voice call from a crack in the door. Apparently in my daze, I had knocked.

"Who else would be standing outside your house in the middle of a damned blizzard, you buffoon?"

"Oh yes, that's definitely you," Nadir sighed before opening the door a bit more to let me in, but not the frigid air. "Allah, it's bad out there." He shut the door firmly before leading me to a sitting room with a warm fire.

"Hmph," I commented, having lost the will to kill the man. That warm fire was melting all the cold off of my bones as well as the bitterness latched to my brain. I took off my cloak and tossed it on a coat rack, directly under which it was sure to leave a horrendous puddle due to all the liquifying snow.

After I found a place in a chair by the fire, Nadir watched me closely for a few moments. Probably trying to figure out if I was going to kill him or not. 'Well, don't give it too long or I just might do what I intended to moments ago.'

As if reading my mind, he jumped into action and offered me some tea. "It's a little bitter, but-"

"The more bitter, the better," I said, eyeing the fire and not the man I was actually talking to. If I stared long enough, the heat would burn away my optical nerves and organs, rendering me with limited vision or at the very most, blind. But then again perhaps my eyes were designed to withstand many physical stretches such as absorbing light in complete darkness…

Nadir came back into the room, drawing me from the train of thought with a cup of tea. I took a sip and softly shook my head. "Bitter," I said shortly. He chuckled and took a seat in the chair opposite mine. We looked like an old married couple seated contently before the fire, drinking our tea with muted conversation.

But I was hardly content, wasn't I?

I set my tea down on a small table with shaky fingers, knowing that this course of thought would lead to many more, making me dizzy from their assault on my consciousness. 'Not to mention, making me terrible company,' I thought with a hint of angry humor. Leaning forward, I caught my forehead between the thumb and index fingers of both hands and applied pressure on my temples. At least I could still access the point of pain without removing the mask. I didn't have enough control to handle a disgusted Daroga.

"Is something wrong, Erik?" Nadir questioned, already alerted to my distress. I sensed him reaching across the space between us (probably to offer some useless physical comfort) before second guessing his actions and withdrawing. Smart man.

I laughed, the coarse sound unnatural to my usual liquid-like grace. I think it frightened Nadir a bit because out of the corner of my eye, I saw him jump. "Is something wrong? _Is something wrong_?" The jump to delusion was swiftly approaching and soon I would be lost to a darker temper. It had been a long time since I'd told myself to 'get a grip on things, man!' Those attempts at dominance over the shadows were futile.

"Of course something is wrong, you fool! When has there been anything right?" I demanded, suddenly jumping up and facing him. I must say, he put up quite the strong front. Only his quivering knees revealed fear.

"I'm stuck in a tunnel, a pitch black tunnel so dark that even _I_ can't see the ground or my hand in front of my sorry excuse for a face." My hands leapt to the mask, threatening to tear it off. Only Nadir's very visible flinch kept me from doing so. "There's no light ahead or behind me, Daroga. It's as if I suddenly woke up and found myself there, as if I were forced blindfolded and handcuffed."

Eyes racing quickly over the room, I tried to find objects that might rip me from this madness. Anything to spur any other memory, any other emotional outburst other than this one. Teacup, mantle, bookshelf, mirror (oh don't go there!), window showing the swirling white world outside, my cloak-

Not the cloak. That's not the place to go, Erik…

_She _had once worn that cloak.

... ... ... ... ... ...

After one of her lessons with me-underground-I was reading in my favorite armchair (my favorite because one night she had curled up in it and fallen asleep) and happened to look up and see her shivering with the black fabric in her tiny hands.

"Do you mind if I…," she started in that sweet voice before trailing off uncertainly.

"What is it, my child? Are you cold?" I was disturbed by her obvious discomfort with _some_thing. The way she bit her lip and looked down at her feet told me so. Had I said something? Done something she didn't like? Had I said a critique too harshly in our lesson? What had I-

"Could I wear this?"

My jaw dropped beneath the mask.

Horrified by what she had just said, she stammered. "I was just a bit cold and I saw it sitting over on a chair by the bookshelf I happened to be looking at and I…I thought maybe you wouldn't mind…" She blushed and dropped her gaze even lower.

I jumped up, the quickness of my movement startling her. She took a hesitant step back, clutching my cloak in white hands. With a tender slowness, I tilted my head until I caught her eye. She blushed even deeper, the red making her absolutely beautiful.

"Everything I own is yours to use as you please, dear. If you are cold you may use the cloak." I made sure to say "the cloak" instead of "my cloak" just in case the intimacy of the situation caused her to change her mind.

'Everything is yours. I am yours, dear. Use me as you please, dearest. Use and toss me aside like the cloak, my darling.'

She smiled, thanked me with a mumble, and skipped away with my cloak covering her body.

... ... ... ... ... ...

No, the cloak definitely wasn't the place to go.

"No," I whispered. I didn't notice Nadir anymore-he could have ran from the room for all I was aware. I was focused on the black tunnel again. "I wasn't drug here. I came very willingly." I imagined that beautiful girl grabbing my hand and pulling me forward, deeper and deeper into the blackness.

"Come on, Erik," she teased.

I wasn't able to see her, but I could feel her hand on mine like fire across my flesh. What did it matter where she was leading me as long as her hand was right there?

"She took my hand and led me into the tunnel. She was my guide…" I paused, horrified by my next realization.

"And she left me here."


	3. Existing With No Purpose

**I'm beginning to think it's going to take forever to coax an actual conversation out of Erik. But we wouldn't want an Erik who mindlessly reveals all of his deepest and darkest desires, now would we? Where's the fun in that? A little bit of poking is in order.**

* * *

Existing With No Purpose

My mind was locked away in the tunnel, alone and uncertain of how to react. It was with a strange curiosity that I wondered what would happen to me if I allowed myself to mentally remain in that place, starved of any light-even I had a small amount of light from candles in my abode, so this was a startling consideration. After a while would I cease to think, seeing as there was nothing to inspire creative thought in a darkened tunnel?

I was already feeling the burn of that notion.

I had not composed for what seemed like an agonizingly long time. I didn't sing, didn't design, didn't move about from room to room restlessly as I used to on a particularly dull day. My forehead wrinkled beneath the mask as I tried to recall the last time I had actually accomplished something. I drew a blank.

The tunnel was so cold that even the stormy weather outside appeared warm and inviting. Even _my_ bones rattled in the abyss. I wrapped my thin hands around my torso in an attempt to draw the meager warmth provided by my body closer. The only response that triggered was a shiver as my body rejected the heat and moved to create more out of friction. Almost humorously , I thought, 'At least I won't have to worry about going brain dead. I'll freeze to death far before my mind rots.' Head drawn down and knees buckled beneath me in a sitting position, my body coiled like a spring: still for the time being but prepared to leap at the first movement.

"Erik!"

I jumped when I felt hands shaking me, ripping me from the horrible world in which I had been captured. Once on my feet, I realized they were no longer supportive and settled slowly back into my chair, using my hands on the arm rests at leverage.

I was in Nadir's house. He had awoken me from the darkness. I was sitting in a chair by the fire. There was no tunnel.

I was in Nadir's house and there was no tunnel.

Try as I might, the words wouldn't seep in, battling at the surface of reason with my distorted imagination. The blackness was creeping at the corners again, threatening to take over completely-

"Erik, snap out of it, man!"

A flash of air against my face met the tears I wasn't even aware existed. The two collided and I gasped for oxygen to fill my lungs. The Daroga held my mask out in front of his body like a shield, angling his vision so that he might not have to witness the horror. I could hardly blame him.

"What happened?" I gasped, hands gripping the arm rests and upper body reclining on the back of the chair. All of a sudden I was depleted of energy. I was even too tired to demand my mask be returned.

Nadir handed back the porcelain regardless, assured that I was out of whatever reverie had consumed me. As I reattached the clasps, he spoke.

"You went mad for a few moments, thrashing about and saying something about being stuck in a tunnel." He ran a tired hand over his face, his perfectly normal, if not a bit aged, face. "Then you said something about a '_she'_ leaving you alone. You fell to the ground and started shivering as if you were back out in the storm, mumbling about some black tunnel."

My eyes flitted close and my head leaned back as I sighed. "I apologize for my ghastly behavior, Daroga. I do not understand what came over me."

He returned to his seat and took a long gulp of tea before saying, "It was about her, was it not?"

"Who?" I asked innocently.

Nadir became very grave and stared at the side of my head while I kept my stare directly in front. "Don't play me for a fool. It may have been six months, but I still remember the disaster at the theater."

"I very nearly killed you that night," I snapped before taking on a sickly sweet tone, "And yet here we sit, sharing a cup of tea. Surely your memory has faded a bit, otherwise you would not allow such a fearsome foe into your home," I chuckled. "Or did you mean to kill me tonight? Finally rid the world of its monster? What a brave hero, you are, Daroga. Almost as brave and stupid as that _boy_." I spat the last word, finding satisfaction in the way it burned as it left my lips.

He gestured madly. "See! This _is _about the girl."

"There was no girl," I hissed. My eyes narrowed as they watched the fire dance in its cage. The stone of the wall gave no slack to the flames, as it was a cruel master to its pet. It simply used the heat to give its own existence a purpose. Without fire, what was a fireplace but an empty stone structure with no meaningful function except to gather dust?

"But there was an angel."


	4. A Gargoyle To Polish

**Ah well, I'd like to thank those that have reviewed so far. I applaud your willingness to read this. Don't tell me that you've actually enjoyed this! Did you even realize it's taken 4 chapters to actually get Erik to finally say, "Okay, I'm willing to _think_ about revealing my darkest secrets"? You people…But I love drawing things out, so if at any moment you get tired of the pace, do tell.**

**I may be the only person in the world to find this chapter particularly hilarious. I accidentally placed subtle hints of sarcasm in Erik's character. Oops.**

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A Gargoyle To Polish

The Daroga eyed me warily, sensing my attachment to the current subject of conversation. I shifted a bit, grumbling under my breath about how it was he that brought it up in the first place.

"Get your eyes off of the fireplace like it's about to suddenly disappear. Look at me, Erik," he said.

I did as he said, refreshing my mental image of him clothed in a rich red colored tunic. It contrasted nicely with his brown skin, giving off a mental reflection of the warm climate he had been born and raised in. Nadir's gaze had a false sense of calm about it, I had discovered over the years. Those brown orbs may appear to be bored but behind the initial layer, he was calculating every hitch in a breath and every muscle contracting to make a hand or leg move. He had only ever watched me with this intensity, never trusting me, poor Erik, to enjoy a simple afternoon of tea and talk.

Of course, I had the exact opposite problem with staring, I remembered as he had to momentarily lower his eyes. My bright eyes made no effort to hide their intent to dig through the mind of whoever was being viewed.

After a while (we two could go entire days without speaking, that's how closely we observed each other), Nadir cleared his throat and said, "Tell me about Christine."

I laughed, surprising even myself with the shrill cackle of obvious insanity. It had been a very long time since I had laughed-even in mocking. "Do not play this game with me, Daroga."

"I'm playing no game. I simply want to know what is going on in your head."

"As if you didn't know what was going on before," I snapped. "You and that idiot boy had it all figured out before you fell into my chamber didn't you?" With practiced restraint, I managed not to go on and lose myself in another fury. Instead, I picked up my cup of tea and enjoyed the fading warmth of the liquid while I could. "Yes, mad Erik had gone off and kidnapped some poor girl to satisfy his baser needs, is this not what you had assumed?"

Nadir leaned back and ran a hand through his black hair. I noticed that it had long ago began the receding process and revealed more of his furrowed brow. I knew my presence could not be helping the situation.

"That is what I had assumed, yes. The vicomte made it quite clear that she was his fiancé-" I hissed "and that she would never return to you of her own free will."

"And of course, I could only take her for some monstrous reason. Surely I would only rid the poor innocent thing of her virtue and then kill her later. Am I right again?" My internal patience timer was ticking. In approximately two minutes, if the flow of speech didn't turn or cease completely, I would explode.

My companion looked truly depressed when he sighed and said, "I knew that you _thought_ you loved her. I also knew how obsessed you could become. I could only predict the worse."

"Ah yes, you can only predict the worse of Erik. He is not on the same scale as other men."

"That is why I wish for you to tell me what _was_ and _is now_ going through your head. It is obvious that you are in some half-formed state of living. You are even thinner than I remember," he miserably joked.

I did not laugh.

This was it. My chance to clear the slate and to redraw the correct image of myself upon it. Of course, it would still be hideous-I was never to be anything other than that-but it would be the one without mar of lies or injustices. I could retrieve what little honor I had left and live the remainder of my life knowing I had defended it fiercely.

But would I take advantage of the miraculously placed chance? I was never one to seek pity or forgiveness from anyone other than myself and one other person. I knew this was all that the Daroga could offer and that the "one other person" would never be present in my life again.

"Daroga," I began, voice shaking with a sudden burst of emotion as I realized my previous thought. '_She will never be present in my life again._' Personally, I didn't want my companion to see me cry (what self-respecting man does?) but I could feel the tears coming with a vengeance born of years of being ignored. I pulled off my mask, careful to turn away from him. I heard him gasp and move.

"I am dying."

Nadir (why I go back and forth between Nadir and Daroga, I don't think I will ever be able to find out. With my twisted mind and all, I could never attempt to explain everything I'd ever done.) moved again and I heard his breath coming in my direction. He'd actually turned to face my hideousness, my words had surprised him so.

"Erik?"

I did not (and could not) reply, chocked on tears as I was.

"Erik?"

Why did the man have to push me? Did he not see that I was overcome with something at the moment? Let me have room and time to breath!

"Erik-"

"Damn it, Daroga! Give me time to be dramatic!" I roared, hardly feeling the humor painfully forced out of my throat.

But that was the truth wasn't it? There was exaggerated drama in every aspect of my life from where I lived, to what I wore, to how I interacted with people. I couldn't even fall in love like a normal person.


	5. The Winning Hand In Emotional Poker

**Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but oh well. I suppose I won't keep you waiting any longer. I'm quite aware that the flashback doesn't answer Nadir's question and I did that on purpose. It leaves just enough to lead into the next chapter…when I get there. But what am I doing, telling you all this? I'm babbling!**

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The Winning Hand In Emotional Poker

At last, I got over my tears and returned the mask to my face. It wasn't often that I felt compelled to weep and over the years as the sensation came, I pushed it back. Being as deformed as I was, could I even produce tears, I sometimes wondered. But when the burning rush came, when my black heart was softened beneath my little angel's stare, I found I couldn't hold the tears at bay any longer. Now they took over at the most inopportune times.

Nadir shifted again. The man apparently couldn't sit still when I became emotional. I suppose it was because I became unpredictable at those times and only God knew what I was capable of then.

"Erik, will you finally explain to me the madness you just spat out?"

"I thought it very clear, Daroga." Though I was hopefully doing crying for the day, my breathing was still a bit off and a few more painful seconds went by. "I am dying."

"Of what? Of what is the famous trap door lover dying when nothing else in the entire Persian kingdom could lay a hand on him?"

"Love."

He filled the following silence with hysterical laughter.

"Daroga, my friend, have I finally driven you mad?" I chuckled with him, entertained by the notion he had at last submitted to my insanity.

"Erik, when was the last time you ever loved anything?" the Daroga managed between fits of laughter. "To love would be to give up your own happiness for that of someone else. To sacrifice all in the name of a mere emotion."

"And I could never do that? Of course not."

I took my cup of tea and tossed it, cup and all, into the fire with frustration. That shut him up.

"I thought you wanted into my head, Daroga. You've barely even begun to hear what I have to say."

We both listened to the wind howling outside, regaining a handful of minutes of content silence. The storm was still battling against the city. It was as I once was, eager to face the world and destroy it with all available power. Soon the mighty snow and cold would reflect my current image: tired and weak. It took me all of fifty years to be reduced. How long would this storm last?

"Why do you love her?" I heard the Daroga ask in a gentle tone before rescuing his lonely cup of tea from the table. Most likely to protect it from joining its brother should I become angered again.

I steepled my fingers and prepared for a long answer. "I have asked that myself countless times. I used to think that, like you did, there was no way I could feel love. This must be some kind of lust. I was obsessed because of her beauty and youth…But I was wrong."

… … … … … …

It was late after she had asked for my cloak and I began to wonder where she had scurried off to hours earlier. Nighttime had already come and it was far past her usual bedtime. Where was my girl?

I got off my favorite armchair and stretched a bit for I had been sitting in the same position for quite a while. How lucky I was to be so old but not feel half of what most men my age were feeling in their bodies, the old age creeping into their bones and such. No, I felt more alive than I ever had. Mostly thanks to one particular chorus girl who was nowhere to be found.

"Christine?" I called out with no real expectation of her bounding back to me excitedly. The darling girl had probably fallen asleep somewhere with a book.

She wasn't in the library curled up in a sofa, nor was she in her own bedroom. The music room was unoccupied as well as the main living area. I looked around for even the sign of a discarded cloak but it wasn't to be seen. A bit nervous, I checked in my bedroom and sighed in relief when she wasn't there.

Ah…the kitchen!

I sprinted to the kitchen, the sudden disappearance of my dear Christine having shaken me quite a bit, and sighed deeply in relief when I saw her dozing form half supported on the table. She was using a book as her pillow. A high pitched whistling from a pot (why hadn't I noticed it before?) told me the story.

She had been engrossed in her book when she'd had a thirsting for tea. Not wanting to disturb me again after the whole cloak discussion, she got up and went to prepare it herself. And while waiting for the water to reach the proper temperature she had fallen asleep over her book.

She was beautiful.

I anxiously approached, noticing the calm expression on her fair face. Should I wake her? Should I carry her to bed? Should I let her have her tea first?

Speaking of tea, the pot was whistling madly and I swiftly made to remove it from the heat only to jump back when my hand was seared.

How long had she been asleep?

With a hiss, I grabbed the edge of my sleeve and used it to pick up the offending object. Bloody pot burning my bloody fingers, I'll take bloody care of you-

"Mmm…"

It was at this exact moment that I nearly had a heart attack and ceased to be amongst the living.

Christine had half awoken, gotten up, and stumbled into me, head nestled warmly in my chest and hands pressed near my stomach like I was some huge pillow to snuggle up against.

Oh Lord oh Lord oh Lord oh Lord!

I became aware of multiple things at one time, nearly causing an overload. First of all (because Christine is always first in my book), Christine was sleepily rubbing against me. Second, I was frightened out of my wits and about to make a mad dash for safety. And third, the pot was burning my hand through my thin shirt sleeve.

I had to talk my way through the entire situation like a teacher encouraging a helpless student.

'Okay, breathe. Now put the pot down slowly so you don't wake the girl. I don't care if it burns the hell out of your fingers, you do it slowly…that's it…alright. Good job. Now breathe again. Everything is fine, Christine is just having an odd dream. A very odd dream. And if she wakes, you don't want her to be scared, right? So don't wake her! Get her off your chest.' That was a hard one. 'Nice and easy, there you go. Now pick her up, uh huh. You've got it. Excellent work. Go bring her to bed, old boy.'

Once she was settled in bed, I took a moment to appreciate my handiwork.

Christine was as beautiful as the voice I had molded to perfection. Lovely blonde hair encasing her innocent face, delicate hands, rosy cheeks, upturned faultless lips…

I found myself leaning forward, whole attention captured by those slightly parted lips between which her soft breath escaped. What it would be like! What a glorious feeling to have those lips touch my flesh! I could compose on the feeling for an eternity.

With a pull of caution, I yanked back. I berated myself harshly for getting distracted so easily. What if she had woken up? What if I had actually…kissed her!

'No,' a voice in my head warned, 'You love her enough to not want her, so stop day dreaming about what cannot be.'

That's a lie, I fought. I'll always _want_ her.

'But never enough to act upon your own desires. Especially when she is unconscious, you idiot.'

Ah yes, the unconscious card always played well against my hand of longing. I got a grip on my handling and steered out of the room, only casting a final glance to wish her sleeping figure a good night. In that last look, I realized she was still wearing my cloak

The longing and desiring of fifty years was replaced with tender warmth at that sight. True, I did want her in the most intimate way possible, but I loved her so much more.


	6. Bricks Fulfilled

**So, I admit, I've been distracted. I had 10 episodes of House M.D. sitting on my DVR and they were calling to me like the intoxicating smell of coffee (Mmm…). But! I only succumbed to 5 of them. You should applaud me for my diligence.**

**And on we go, right? If you're not interested, I can go place my attention elsewhere-perhaps watching a miserable guy with a scruffy face limp around doing insane things to his patients. Yes…**

**Or you could just read and I'll put more effort into updating sooner. I _could _do that-it just wouldn't be as much fun. Unless I had some motivation. It comes in little bottles and you can get them half off at Sonic during happy hour. Hello? Can you say "deal"?**

**My thanks to PHLover213 for being a super reviewer. Jeez, if you kids could be more like _her_, I'd be getting somewhere.**

* * *

Bricks Fulfilled

"But in some aspects," I continued, feeling the coldness of accepted reality sink into the spaces between my bones, "I did love her for her youth and beauty."

I casted a side glance my companion and saw his eyes regarding me dully. Most likely Nadir was hanging on to my every word.

"It is some psychological diagnosis you are searching for, right?" I asked, "You want to scientifically understand why I, who felt nothing but selfishness, suddenly had a yearning to see this child gathered in jewels and cheeks rosy with happiness, no?"

Nadir motioned in the affirmative.

"I suppose it was everything about her, my little Christine Daaé."

After I left that statement hanging in the air for a minute or two (I'm sure Nadir was counting in order to determine the proper time to courteously interrupt), he said, "That's no _diagnosis_."

"Indeed, it is not. She was like a cure for all the symptoms of my miserable life, you see. I was ugly, she was a piece of art come alive. I was hated, she was bathed in parental adoration. I was a monster, she was the epitome of innocence." I scoffed a bit at my own foolishness. "It was as I were a stack of bricks and she were the mortar designed to hold me together. We fulfilled each other that way."

"But Mademoiselle Daaé did not feel the same way. She did not feel...fulfilled," he coaxed.

I laughed, genuinely this time. "Oh Heavens no, Daroga! You should have seen her face pale at the sight of me. It was…" I coughed, all mirth gone at the memory. "It was difficult."

(This is my new freaking flashback break because the freaking computer/website won't let me put my customary freaking dashes in.)

The production had ended, my darling's precious vocal superiority still ringing with that final chord in my head. I could hardly get the image of her out of my mind: radiant, breathtaking, dazzling.

I almost chuckled, giving away my hiding spot behind her mirror. I, _dazzled_? It didn't seem possible.

Christine was still battling her nerves. Oh, there are people who believe performers only feel nervous for the moment they are on stage, all quaking emotions flooded out in an instant when their feet take them elsewhere. But a true performer knows the anxiety of reliving the event in their own mind in a bloody quest for failure. The mistake could have been as miniscule as a misplaced breath or as large as a shattered pitch, but Christine was wracking her memory for anything that would have made her performance less than perfect. Her shivering figure before the mirror told me so.

I wanted nothing more than to reveal myself and comfort the misguiding nerves with my praise, but before I could do so, her dressing room door burst open.

A boy!

I growled, caught off guard by this unexpected appearance. Thankfully Christine's cry of " Raoul!" overshadowed it.

Shock tingled throughout my body. _She knew this intruder?_

A short conversation later and I was barely holding onto sensible thought. My vision had exploded in a fiery red hue and all I wanted to do was wring that scrawny boy's neck until it every bone was reduced to powder and his head lopped around unsupported by the anatomical necessity. Oh yes, that would do me very well…

The sound of a door closing brought me to my senses. The red washed away to show me a Christine blushing with a hand over her heart. That boy had kissed her hand!

My jaw trembled in an animalistic craze and a strange hissing sound was issuing from my lips. Pressing my forehead to the cool texture of the wall, I took steadying breaths. In, in, in, out, out, out. In, in , in with the calm, out, out, out with the anger. Good…

By the time I managed to gain control of myself (really, it wasn't healthy to lose it as easily and often as I did) Christine was sitting in her chair by the mirror again, only this time she appeared to be waiting for something.

Her angel!

That boy had not swayed her vigilance after all. With a huff of pride, I spoke and congratulated her on a flawless success.

She blushed again, but this time it was for me and me alone. Believe me, I took careful notice.

And then I remembered my entire purpose tonight-how could I have forgotten over the small issue of an incompetent male presence? I was to make myself known to my dearest. Really, how _could_ I have misplaced that thought? My hands were practically shaking in recollection of the emotional tempest I had been the past week.

And so I sang, careful to leave my inner turmoils out of the music and focusing excruciatingly on placing Christine under my hypnotic spell. The notes bounced off her dressing room walls and she whirled around a bit before finally coming forward, toward the mirror by pure intuitive will. There was a part of me that wondered if she'd subconsciously known my hiding place the entire time of her instruction.

When I opened the mirror, reflective glass rippling to create the image of moving water, I nearly stopped singing. My beautiful protégé sharing the same air as I, only physically a yard apart, her eyes connecting to mine with a spark. It was amazing that my heart could handle the excitement.

But then…there it was…my worst fear recognized.

Her face lost all of its color and the lovely blush she'd bore only seconds before was painted over with a sick white color.

Breath ceased to funnel into my lungs and my body gathered deadly carbon dioxide. If I stayed like this, involuntarily not breathing and all, I would die from a buildup of the formidable gas.

My Christine was afraid of me.

(This is my new freaking flashback break because the freaking computer/website won't let me put my customary freaking dashes in.)

"But I pushed her regardless," I continued, "I pushed her with no end in sight, no slack on the reigns, and she fled from me the first opportunity available. I wanted to force her to love me but all I accomplished was forcing her to the farthest place from my heart."

Nadir got up. Stretching from the boredom of my words, it seemed. "You cannot force someone to love."

"But there, Daroga, is where you are incorrect. It is very possible to make human beings feel anything if one has the right leverage. In fact, I believe I succeeded, if only for a few seconds of light in Christine's eyes. She once laughed at something I said-after seeing me in all my hideous glory, even."

"Laughter isn't love," Nadir said. I think standing while I was seated made him feel safer, in more control. "Would you like more tea?"

I nodded.

"Just promise this cup won't end up in the fireplace. I was rather hoping to read the tea leaves to check for future misery in your life," Nadir added with a spot of humor in his voice. I smirked beneath the mask. Even I can appreciate a healthy joke at my dispense every once in a while.


	7. A Diamond Brought To Life

**Rather short, but I can't battle myself anymore. I just want _something_ out. Writing this chapter was kind of like removing a pound of gum from a tender-headed Pentecostal female's hair with a spatula. Yeah…**

**I find the chapter title nicely ironic though considering...well, you'll find out.**

A Diamond Brought To Life

When the Daroga returned with the tea I was very careful not to destroy it before enjoying the astringent taste. We both sat as before, sipping and casually watching the flames with a muted satisfaction.

"Perhaps it was not love?" I heard Nadir almost whisper. I knew at that moment he was reflecting upon his wife and wondering if I could possibly have felt the same tender emotions for Christine as Nadir had for her. Of course, it could not be love. If I actually felt affection for someone, that would make me human and therefore, accountable for my actions.

And Nadir would be accountable for never stopping me every time I murdered or stole or blackmailed.

"She became my existence, Daroga! I wanted to share everything I had with her." I moaned, wondering how to put my happiness and despair into words.

"A pain in my heart like arrows shot through it, lungs unable to bring in air due to rocks weighing them down, stomach groaning as fire parades through its contents-I felt that when I realized she was afraid of me.

"Is that not how you felt when your wife died?"

Nadir gulped. I could practically hear the sorrow and relived memories going down his esophagus.

"And I experienced that sensation every second of the day, each half-lived moment more excruciating than the next. And yet, I adored her."

The Daroga laughed, a choked sound that reminded me of a drowning man. "If she made you feel like that all the time, how could you possibly love her?" He smiled grimly. I began to wonder if he had not added a few drops of alcohol to his cup. He did not normally grin so. "How could you not _hate_ her?"

My cup now empty (I congratulated myself on completing it without tossing the simple thing somewhere odd), I looked at my hands. Had these hands once touched an angel?

"True, a result of loving my Christine was misery…" I thought upon that word, "misery". Had I truly been nothing but a sack of negative emotion while knowing my dearest? Had my world really been that bleak?

Was it not still as miserable as the weather outside?

"But that was my own fault. She could only inspire the happiest of feelings with me. It was my own twisted mind that turned them into dark thoughts, deadly thoughts."

I watched the shadows play on the wall, caught up in a game with the light from the fire. I had once been snared in a game too, my blackness counteracting a blindingly pure light. I used to think that perhaps my black soul would compliment hers quite nicely: a diamond set upon a dark cloth to emphasize the shimmering beauty. But all it did was wrap tightly around the jewel and douse it in darkness, no light to bring my lovely diamond to life. The game ended with the diamond breathing life in the sunshine and the cloth conveniently dead.

My eyes found the clock on the wall and I stated that it was past time for me to leave. My presence had worn its welcome the moment I knocked on the door.

Nadir fetched my hat and cloak and walked me to the door.

As the door opened and I prepared to once again battle the icy winds, the Daroga fastened a hand on my shoulder. "Are you still as discontented as you once were, my friend?"

I thought on this for a moment (mostly to prolong my departure into the elements. If I strained, I could feel the heat off the flames…) Wind whistled past my ear and already the muscles in my neck were clenching in response to the temperature.

"Of course I am," I finally answered, placing my fedora on and tilting it in a departing motion. "I used to wonder which was worse: knowing what made me unhappy or being unaware of what was eating away at my sanity. _It is the former_," I hissed, "for no matter what I do, I shall hear her voice as a distant echo in my ears and forever remain unable to have it all for myself. My misery is defined."

"And that makes the pain all the worse."

The End

**Aha! Bet that surprised you. I was caught off guard as well. I had fully intended to make this longer and go in tiny detail about Erik epiphany, but there is a thunderstorm tonight and I felt…_inspired_ to cut it short. When it rains and thunders and lightning begins to strike, my writer juices get all flowy-and they told me to put a stop to "Defining Misery". So that's it! A grateful THANK YOU to all my reviewers. I appreciate whatever you saw in this piece.**

**No, I'll never reopen it and go on as I had projected. When the door is closed, it's closed.**

**Good day.**


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